


A Knock at the Door

by Vee



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, M/M, Water 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-14
Updated: 2005-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vee/pseuds/Vee





	A Knock at the Door

It had been so many years, but he still had this sort of night occasionally. Iceburg was a man of wealth, stature, and a generous constitution regarding his emotions, but every now and then, in those quiet, dark moments of stillness, he'd hear the waves and remember. It wasn't like his normal self; perhaps his normal self needed to be around others to block these thoughts out. Because it wasn't every night that this happened. But whenever it did, the circumstances were always the same. He'd have nothing to do but stare at the wall, unable to rest, nudging Tyrannosaurus' sleeping head, and through his open window he'd hear the waves.

A time so long ago, a state of mind so far removed. But it seemed as fresh and remarkable as it had always been. Over the course of his life since that time, he'd found ways to justify it and explain it; overflowing teenage hormones mixed with an intensely loyal love/hate friendship…

But nothing ever seemed to work as justification on these nights, to stop the memories and the loneliness they inspired. He walked to the window – his feet were bare, his shirt untucked. He supposed he didn't look very mayorly, but that didn't worry him when no one was watching. He touched the windowsill gently, and leaned forward only far enough to catch the breeze, to smell the salt air. 

Salt air. The ocean. Their bodies fresh from the water. Heat, and the cool waves lapping them occasionally. Moments when the noises they made, the gasps they managed, would overcome the sound of the sea. It had been so long ago, but he had invited everything. 

He smirked. Invited, like Hell. He'd _begged_ for every bit of it. There was just something about that night – that one night…

"Cutty…" he mumbled, and stared down at the black-and-blue shadows of the city horizon. A few lights were on in the buildings below. He knew the name he uttered meant nothing anymore. That name was gone, the boy he knew was different. Everything had changed. 

Still, on these nights, he wondered if Franky ever remembered the same night. Oh, sure, it had been rather slapdash and harried, but it had happened, and it was indelible. 

_"Do it."_

_"You're fooling me. I'm not making one move."_

_"You're already halfway there, just do it to me."_

_"I don't think you…"_

_"Cutty. I want it. You never finish things with me. You finish everything else, but never me. Go on."_

He could feel the wet fabric of Cutty's shirt as he tugged at it, pulling it halfway down the other boy's shoulder. Their other hands were a-tangle inside one another's pants. The tension was mounting, the heat was inexhaustible, it seemed. For once, Iceburg had wanted things to be complete. No more of the standard, silly fumbling in darkness that always led to a messy, awkward end. 

_"Kiss me."_ He'd asked him. _"Please."_  
And that was all it took. No more words were spoken that night, nor were any more words spoken on that particular matter. In fact, everything ceased after that. No more touches, no more casually suggestive looks, and certainly no more groping on the beach. 

_"This might get weird. You're sure—"_

_"You don't have it in you, do you?"_

That had been the way to get him. 

_"Shut up! Of course I do!"_ His shoulders were pinned to the ground, Cutty was tearing off his pants…

With the salt air still in his nostrils, and his eyes half-closed, Iceburg let his hand wander down his chest, past the wrinkled ends of a shirt that had been tucked all day. He cupped his hand between his legs and moaned softly. 

And then, interruption. 

Tap, tap, tap. 

Not the normal tap. Not the dignified, short Califa tap. This tap was stronger, more important. Like it was trying hard to be more dignified, in fact. Iceburg moved quickly from the windowsill, and cursed the bulge in his pants that he certainly couldn't hide. He decided to be silent. He walked nimbly to the bed, not making a sound, and sat. 

Half a minute, and he thought he might be safe. 

Tap, tap, tap.

"Iceburg. Sir…" 

He opened his eyes wide and stared at the door, breathless. That voice. What now? What could there possibly be, now? 

Making an effort to be quiet always heightened his senses. Things he never would have recalled to make noise before were suddenly amplified in his consciousness. The brush of his hand against the bedspread – the sharp intake of breath. Even the noise of his eyes blinking as he pushed away the thoughts. _No, go away. Stay away._

"Iceburg, I know you're awake, I saw you in the window." 

It was just like him, to go skulking around the city at night. Such a troublesome one. 

"What do you want?" Iceburg finally spoke up, softly and hoping the man behind the door wouldn't hear it. 

He heard the whisper of a chuckle. And an odd voice – high-pitched, rolling. "You know what this is about." 

For months, this had been happening. How it had started, he had no idea. All he knew is that whenever it happened, there were three stages. This was stage one. This was his Resistance. 

"Lucci, go away. I'm not feeling all right." 

The voice was always the hardest part to take. "Since when are you ever feeling all right?"

The Resistance never lasted long. He was on his feet in a few more moments, knowing that Lucci wouldn't leave that door until he received what he came for. He came calling on Iceburg three, maybe four times a month. Always without much talking. In fact, there was very little talking at all. Hottori tended to wait on the windowsill, watching the city horizon and able to feel the salt air moving quickly over the rooftops, as it did at night. 

The door was opened only slightly before Lucci widened it, and stepped inside. As expected, the little pigeon on his shoulder flew to the window immediately. Lucci was already doffing his hat, tossing it anywhere – this time it landed on the floor, but sometimes it actually managed to find a piece of furniture. 

"Let's make this quick." Iceburg relented with a sigh, already going for the buttons of his shirt. This was his Surrender. 

Why Lucci? It couldn't have just been his looks, not his body, and certainly it hadn't been his words. There was a deeper way this man had persuaded him, had seduced him. And the seduction was very good. In fact, Iceburg was never disappointed, not with the act itself. Thus far, Lucci (or rather, Hottori) hadn’t told a soul, and no one seemed to suspect the slightest consort between the two. But the Mayor of Water 7 found himself in a position that was otherwise hard to explain. Consort, certainly. That was a kind term to put to it. The fact of the matter was, he was offering himself to Lucci completely. Sometimes – times like tonight – it was without words completely. 

"Don't come back again." Iceburg panted, on his knees, clutching the headboard as the bedsprings squeaked, politely muffled, beneath the force of their union.

Lucci only fucked him harder in response to the order. He didn’t take orders very well, as loyal as he was in every other regard. Perhaps he considered it a perk of the job, that he was 

This wasn't anything like it had been with Cutty. There was none of the quiet insecurity, or the peaceful aftermath of awkward friendship. There was only dirty sex, and secrets. He closed his eyes harder, and bit his bottom lip against the rising tension of his climax. In those moments, he was grateful for the lack of words, the lack of any noise whatsoever. Sometimes – times like tonight – he could actually cancel out everything else and focus on the sound outside his window – the sound of the waves. He could conjure up the feeling of the waves beneath his knees, around his naked body. He could pretend it was Cutty. Sometimes.

When it was over, there was no chance for awkwardness or aftermath. Lucci left as quickly as he arrived, as soon as things were complete. It was not a chore for Iceburg, and it wasn't some unpleasant agreement he wished he could break free of. Quite the opposite – he loved the clandestine couplings, as sporadic and unexpected as they were. Some nights, he was practically insatiable for it when Lucci came knocking. 

But not on these nights. When Lucci got dressed, gathered his hat and pigeon, and left, there was little he could return to but the memories he'd been making love to only moments before the interruption. 

He laid back on his disheveled bed, frowning, still remembering. He'd been so gentle, all those years ago. As he was now, would he be as gentle? Would he take a second look? Would they ever meet again, and if they did what would they say? 

"Cutty…"

That was what kept him sane through these nights, somehow. Creating scenarios, running them through his head. Pining. 

This was his Humiliation, but it was also his Hope.


End file.
